


instead of myself

by caesar



Series: homesick [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Making Out, Post-Coronation of Historia, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 18:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesar/pseuds/caesar
Summary: Historia doesn’t remember the last time someone touched her so much since Ymir left. No one touches the Queen unless they have to, unless it’s necessary, and she doesn’t ask for others to touch her. She doesn’t want anyone touching her because they all respect her, but are her subjects and make it clear they don’t want to because they feel unworthy.And yet, Levi hasn’t stopped touching her since he offered his hand, and even though it’s gentle, subtle, and barely there, it has all awakened something within her.--(part two of a series but can stand alone)





	instead of myself

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by a combination of[this](https://twitter.com/twius0/status/902847072960888832?s=09) piece of art and music by sleeping at last, hence the title and series name. i also like the idea of a touch-starved historia because as a child she never got affection she needed, and with ymir gone, she has that void again. enter our other touch-starved sad boi, levi, and i got a lot of feels and this came of it all. i hope you readers enjoy!
> 
> (also, i know this is part 2 of my homesick series, but this can stand alone by itself)

 

Historia _hates_ galas almost as much as Levi does.

 

Almost.

 

She should be used to formal events by now, having been queen for a little over three years now, but she’s starting to believe that she won’t. So it goes, she surmises. At least her shoes for this event are comfortable: little flats with a tiny wrap around her ankle. The last gala she wore heels to had her feet bleeding halfway through.

 

She’s just thankful that people don’t ask her to dance. Strangers touching her, even if it’s only her hand and waist, is not appealing to her in any way. She gladly entertains the women, and some of the kinder men who seem as unhappy as her at the formal gatherings, engaging in conversations that make her feel like a normal girl again. She gets especially jovial when she spots Survey Corps officers at the galas, eager to be a part of that community again.

 

A shard of sorrow pierces her heart, reminding her of her friends that she hardly sees now. She writes to many of them—Eren, Mikasa, and Armin the most—but it’s nothing compared to being around them.

 

Her eyes are unfocused on her glass of wine, and she sighs. She doesn’t care for wine, either, but she finishes her glass to feel the warmth spread in her belly.

 

“You look fucking miserable.”

 

Normally, she would put on her regal act and assure the man who approached her that she’s having a lovely time, but when her head snaps up, her words are caught in her throat when she’s faced with her former captain. He’s not in a fancy suit like some men are, but in his long formal Survey Corps coat, but he’s still in a white dress shirt and pants underneath, cravat perfectly in place. The medal she gave him and the others those years ago hangs underneath the cravat, as shiny as the day she put it on him.

 

“Captain Levi,” Historia breathes, unable to hide her smile. A _real_ smile. He looks as unamused at she’s been, his frown deeply set and his expression bored. She thinks of playing pretend, but when she can’t lie to him. “I hate these events,” she confesses. “They’re all the same.”

 

This makes the corners of his lips turn upward, and she’s almost giddy at the sight. “They are shit, aren’t they?” Levi quickly glances down her figure, looking over her gown; it’s all white, in a thin, soft material, with an open back and thin straps. Her hair is pinned up in a plait, her long fringe framing her face. She shifts her weight from one foot to another under his scrutiny, and she reflexively wants to salute, but refrains. “Your dress is a little risqué for a queen,” he comments offhandedly, making her blush.

 

“I despise the ridiculous, pompous dresses they try to get me to wear. I feel like I can hardly breathe in most of them, let alone move around and talk,” Historia scoffs, and Levi cocks an eyebrow in amusement.

 

“Well, I think the men are too intimidated by you to even talk to you, so your choice of clothing probably helped you keep to yourself.”

 

She isn’t sure if she should be flustered or annoyed with him, so she just huffs in response. The music shifts to a piano-focused piece, and she changes the subject. “The one good thing about these galas are the music. You never hear anything like it anywhere else,” she muses.

 

Historia doesn’t see the way his expression softens, or how he takes a deep breath before he steps closer to her, offering his hand to her. “Dance with me.” It’s not a question, or proper offer that a gentleman in the capital would give, and when he says it like an order she knows she can’t refuse him.

 

Not that she wants to, anyway.

 

She places her hand in his, and his fingers curl around hers gently as he leads her to the center of the floor, ignoring the many stares aimed at them. His other hand takes hold of her waist, his hand cold on the exposed skin of her back; her other hand rests on his shoulder, and she straightens her back to match his good posture. He waits a beat or two before he takes the first step, moving easily in time with the music.

 

Levi shocks her with how graceful he is on the dance floor, his feet never faltering in step. She grins and bites her lower lip as she meets his gaze; up close, she can appreciate the depth of his eyes and how they’re a dark blue, like sapphires. “What are you laughing at?” His voice is low, sending chills down her spine. She wonders if he can feel her goosebumps.

 

“I just never thought you’d be a good dancer,” Historia admits, and he chuckles. As if to prove a point, he lets go of her waist to spin her, and she twirls gracefully, the skirt of her dress encircling her as she moves before she returns to him.

 

His eyes are twinkling, but it could just be the lights reflecting in them. “I never thought you would be, either,” he teases, and she can’t hold back her laughter.

 

“That’s fair. I honestly don’t like to dance at galas. I don’t like being felt up by men twice my age that I don’t know.” She scrunches her nose at the thought.

 

He hums in agreement, before asking in a soft voice, “What about men that you do know?”

 

Before she can answer, Levi suddenly dips her, and her hand on his shoulder quickly goes to the back of his neck to keep herself from falling, and his hand on her waist is on her back to support her in the move. He holds her in place for only a second before pulling her back up, but that moment felt like a lifetime to her, staring into his eyes, seeing something unreadable in the stormy blue. When they’re back in step with the music, she’s closer to him, her hand still on his neck, her fingers over his undercut. Even though the hairs are fine and buzzed short, it’s still so _soft_ and she’s incredibly distracted by their proximity.

 

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” Historia asks, her voice breathy and hushed, as if she’s asking something that she shouldn’t. She probably is.

 

Levi doesn’t answer the question, his eyes roaming over her face. She’s suddenly self-conscious of how red her cheeks must be. “You have a lot of freckles,” he comments.

 

“I—yeah.” She’s surprised he can see them through her blush that is likely permanent now. “I spent a lot of time in the sun as a child, and you know how training goes.” His brow furrows slightly as he ponders her words, and she lets herself examine his face while he thinks. Her smile returns, but it’s smaller and fonder. “You have some on your nose, you know. And right under your eyes, but it’s really hard to see them.” Thoughtlessly, she moves her hand from the nape of his neck to his cheek, caressing the spots she mentioned with her thumb. When his eyes widen and he breathes in sharply, she freezes, suddenly _very_ aware of herself, what she’s doing, and how she’s feeling. And fuck, is she feeling _so much_.

 

Historia removes herself from him and turns tail, taking off in the direction of a corridor that has rooms of books and decorations, normally closed off for events like this but it is her castle and she needs space to just _think_. She knows that eyes are following her, watching her retreat like a coward, but she doesn’t care, throwing the ornate door open and leaning over a desk, holding herself up by her arms.

 

She cannot be attracted to Levi. She can _not_ have budding feelings for him. She thinks of all the reasons why so she can convince herself, but she immediately forgets all of them when she hears the door shut and his voice echoes in her ears, startling her.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Historia wants to scream. Instead she whimpers, “I hate these galas. Everyone stares at the Queen who smiles so kindly, who mingles with the lowly, and who gives so much. It’s so proper. The only real say I get without being unladylike is in what I look like.” She squeezes her eyes shut, wishing she could open them and be in the barracks again. When she does, she’s disappointed when she sees the polished wood. His hand lightly touches her back, his callused palms pleasantly rough on her exposed skin; the small touch brings her back to reality, grounding her.

 

“You really do look beautiful,” he whispers, and she turns around to look at him. His hand stays in place, and she reaches forward to touch him, playing her hands on his chest.

 

“I thought you said—“

 

Levi interrupts her, not even allowing the train of thought she is headed toward. “I said the dress was risqué, not bad. Besides,” he pulls her closer, inching forward until she’s pressed against his chest, and she feels so warm all over from his body heat, or maybe just because of his words, “you could wear _rags_ in there and put everyone to shame, Historia.”

 

The way he says her name without any formal title makes her heart soar, trying to break free from the confines of her bosom. His other hand slowly feels his way up her bare arm, leaving chills in his wake.

 

Historia doesn’t remember the last time someone touched her so much since Ymir left. No one touches the Queen unless they have to, unless it’s necessary, and she doesn’t ask for others to touch her. She doesn’t _want_ anyone touching her because they all respect her, but are her subjects and make it clear they don’t want to because they feel unworthy.

 

And yet, Levi hasn’t stopped touching her since he offered his hand, and even though it’s gentle, subtle, and barely there, it has all awakened something within her. She feels deprived of contact, of affection, and he appears, freely exploring her exposed skin with respect.

 

She moves one of her hands to cup his face, her thumb once again running over his freckles that she can only see when inches from him. Both of his hands settle on her back, and she realizes that even his fingertips are coarse. With her hand on his chest, she pushes him so that he steps back, and she follows until the backs of his knees hit a chaise. Guided by her silent movements, he sits, scooting back until his back is against the support of the chair, and she sits atop him, settling in his lap. She pulls the hem of her dress up high, moving aside the fabric, exposing her milky legs. He doesn’t speak, his breathing even despite the quick beat she feels beneath her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. She takes his hands in hers, placing them back on her body, needing his touch again. He hesitates, and she makes the mistake of showing her fear on her face.

 

“You let me get this far already,” Historia says quietly, and he purses his lips at her words.

 

“I’m almost twice your age.”

 

She furrows her brow. “You keep touching me,” she argues weakly in a soft voice even though they’re alone. “I just want something _real_.”

 

Understanding washes over Levi, and he puts his hands on her waist, one reaching around to her back, tracing down her spine. “Earlier, you asked me what I’m not good at.” His wandering hand settles on the small of her back. “I’m not good at this.”

 

“What is this?”

 

“Not touching you. Not wanting to keep you to myself.” His eyes rake over her, appreciating her figure in her current position. “You may think there’s nothing that I can’t do, but I’m only a man, Historia.”

 

“Then give us what we both want, Levi,” she implores him.

 

Unable to resist, he obliges eagerly.

 

Levi sits up, pulling her closer to him so that her chest is again pressed to his. He looks at her, level with her, glancing at her lips. She licks them nervously. Instead of moving in like she expects, he buries his face in her neck, his breath hot on her skin. She gasps, and her arms wrap around his broad shoulders, one hand working through his hair. She threads her fingers through the soft locks, and he doesn’t kiss her neck, only hiding his face from her view. His lips are still against her skin, parted slightly so he can breathe, and she can feel her heartbeat in her ears, hyperaware of him. His hands slide up to her shoulders, gently pulling down the thin straps holding up her dress. She allows it to fall over her arms, the top of her dress gathering around her waist, leaving her torso exposed against him. His hands further explore her back, fingertips ghosting over her freckled shoulders and back down her spine again, taking extra time to trace her curves. He hums in appreciation when he does so, and she briefly wonders how much she’s filled out since that night on the balcony, wonders how long he’s seen her as a woman instead of the green recruit that was lying about her name, wonders when he realized that wanted to touch her.

 

One of his hands slides beneath the waistline her dress, under the fabric, and he freezes as he sharply inhales, his whole body tensing. “You’re not wearing underwear,” Levi growls, and she can _feel_ the rumble in his chest while she’s flush to him, as well as the way his lips move on her neck when he speaks.

 

“Y-You can see them through the dress if I do,” Historia explains shakily. It’s an honest answer, and she legitimately didn’t intend for anyone to know that she was bare under her gown.

 

Levi doesn’t say anything in response. She’s painfully reminded that only the fabric of his pants separates her from him, and she then thinks about what it would be like to be touched there by him.

 

He moves again, taking his hand out from under gown and placing it on her thigh, and he inches upward slowly, and then he lets his lips move on her neck at an equally slow pace. He’s kissing her neck, making her breathe heavier, tense with anticipation of what he may do when his hand goes beneath her dress. He distracts her by removing his lips from her neck, using his other hand to grab the back of her neck and guide her head back down so he can finally, _finally_ kiss her.

 

She’s clumsy and out of practice, having only kissed one person before years ago who’s away and gone, but he leads her. His tongue trails along her lips, exploring her mouth, and he’s careful not to click their teeth together when he presses harder to her. She shivers when his rough hands gently run up her thigh, sliding over her hip, his thumb tracing her hipbone. Her breath hitches when he touches the sensitive skin, so close to her center yet nowhere near. He bites her bottom lip and she moans, his hands so close to everywhere he wants to touch but not giving in to his lust.

 

Historia moans when his other hand moves on her back up her side, his fingers on her ribs directly beside her breast, her core alight with want. She doesn’t notice how his hands tremble, but she does feel him hesitate again.

 

Levi breaks their kiss, looking up at her, feeling her chest rise and fall with ragged breaths. She sees an array of emotions swirl in the depths of the deep blue, and she sighs. She presses her forehead to his, her breath mingling with his as they just sit there, silently.

 

He’s the first to speak. “They’re going to come looking for you since you ran off like that.”

 

Her heart drops, and she knows that he’s right. He sees the disappointment written all over her and he hides again in the crook of her neck, pressing butterfly kisses to each freckle and mark he sees, and she slowly works her dress back up and over herself. When she’s covered he moves back in for another kiss, taking his time to learn the fullness of her lips, the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. His hands find hers, and he laces his fingers through hers.

 

She’s overwhelmed, and she wants to cry.

 

When he breaks away again, Levi kisses her forehead and pulls her close so he can hold her.

 

Historia’s mind flashes to her mother, who threw her aside, and tears well up in her eyes as Levi says something to her. She doesn’t hear him, instead feeling the way she can hear the vibrations in his chest, her focus wandering to the way his calluses scratch the dip of her back. “Historia,” he repeats himself, “I will see you again. I promise. This isn’t the last time if you don’t want it to be.”

 

He holds her, and she lets her heart ache, savoring every touch.

**Author's Note:**

> there is one more part of this series coming, and their fun won't be cut off next time.
> 
> much love


End file.
